


this is ourselves

by Chash



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-23
Updated: 2016-09-23
Packaged: 2018-08-16 21:02:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8117509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: Clarke starts noticing things about Bellamy, and then she can't stop noticing things about Bellamy.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This says it's post season three, but it is in no way concerned with anything that happens after s3 in terms of plot. As always, I deeply do not care about Nuclear Apocalypse 2: This Time It's Personal.

It wasn't like Clarke didn't know that Bellamy was attractive and competent and intelligent before. She's always known these things about him, even before she liked him. Even before he was the most important person in her entire world, Clarke recognized what she valued about him, the way people listened to him, the way he cared about people, the thousand ways he could help her. And, obviously, yes. He was good-looking. No one could ignore that the first few days, when all the girls and plenty of the boys watched him with hungry eyes, and he knew it and watched them back.

She didn't realize just how much it mattered to her, that he'd stopped doing that. She hadn't even thought about it. She'd heard about Gina, but hearing about Gina was different, because Gina was clearly different. Hearing about Gina made her ache, because they've both lost so much, and they've both done things they regret because of it. There's a strange, terrible way that she--she doesn't _like_ it. But there's something comforting about that being something they have in common. That they can talk about the people they've lost, and it helps. And it seemed like--well, she thought maybe it was a sign that he wouldn't go back to flirting. And he doesn't, not that she notices. 

But she's starting to notice other things. Not--well, it takes a while. Before she figures out exactly what she's noticing. She's just more and more aware of _him_.

First, it's Bellamy's hands, and that she tries to ignore. It's just that he has such _nice_ hands, large and solid, and he suddenly seems to be using them all the time. Clarke finds herself watching the way he gestures when he talks, he way he rubs his jaw, the way he'll suck on his finger when he gets a splinter. The way his fingers dance over the shaft of his axe, on the hilt of his knife. 

The way his hands don't touch guns anymore. The absence of guns in his hands is impossible to ignore, and it's worse than all the others put together. Everything else is lust; the knowledge that he won't shoot another person again, that he's made the choice to give that up, is something else, something golden.

The second thing she notices is his voice, the same as ever, but even more confident somehow. Bellamy took on leadership when they got to the ground, and he took it because he was afraid, because he knew if he was the leader, he could make sure things went his way. He was over-confident to hide that he was scared, but after everything he's been through, he's sure of himself in a new way, and she can hear it.

There's no better sound in the world than Bellamy barking out orders, arguing with her mother and Kane, just--being so sure he's _right_. Knowing where he belongs in the world.

And then the third thing: she realizes that everyone else is noticing too. She sees the way other people's eyes follow him too, the way he's, well--

He's attractive and confident and of course she wouldn't be the only one thinking it. She's never been the only one thinking it. 

"So, what's the plan?" she asks him.

He's lying shirtless on a rock, pretending he's not listening to all the kids splashing around in the lake in case of imminent disaster. His hair is wet from his own brief dip in the water, and the shorts he's wearing are riding low on his hips. Clarke is hugging her own knees against her chest so that she won't do anything else with her hands. 

It's nice, aside from the way her stomach is tying itself in knots.

"The plan for what?"

"Are you ready for another girlfriend? A boyfriend?"

He opens one eye to look at her, wary. "What?"

"We're settling in, right? We've got a lot of new people, you could--"

"Whatever you're thinking, no," he says. He closes his eyes again and yawns. "Not interested right now. I've got other stuff to do."

She's glad he can't see her smiling. "Well, let me know if you change your mind. I bet we could find someone."

"Sure," he says. "I'll let you know."

It should be reassuring. Not that she's against Bellamy finding someone new, of course. She's completely in support of Bellamy being happy. But she'd like to be prepared for it. She'd like to have time to brace herself.

And the problem is that even if Bellamy says he'll tell her, she's not sure _he'll_ be prepared. Because there are definitely people who are interested, and they're trying. And someone might catch him, when he's not expecting it. When he's not paying attention at all.

The first to make a move is Ariel, one of the grounders from Luna's clan, who asks Bellamy if he can teach her how to use the axe. Then it's Dylan, from mech station, who needs help with his swimming. Clarke watches Bellamy's schedule fill up, and it's maddening, having to watch him helping other people. 

It's not even because she thinks they'll be successful in winning him over. It's just so _distracting_ , seeing him patiently walking through things with his new easy smile. He's good at this, gentle and smart, and even when Clarke already knows what he's saying, she can't stop watching him.

He's such a good teacher. And he teaches entirely with his hands.

After two weeks of uncomfortably vivid dreams where she asks him to show her how to get herself off, she finally admits that, honestly, this is a _problem_. She wants him, and that's fine, but--she can't even be around him without being distracted by his smile and his voice and the way his fingers move, and that's a lot. After so long feeling detached and numb, it's almost too much, just _wanting_ like this. It doesn't matter how much she touches herself, she feels like all he has to do is smile at her and she's gone again.

It's unreal, what he does to her. How he makes her feel without even trying.

So she does the only thing she can think of.

"How packed is your schedule?"

"Never too packed," he says. "What's wrong? What do you need?"

He sounds so worried, she has to smile. "Nothing apocalyptic."

His smile is teasing, and it would be so easy to lean over, to press her mouth against his. But she resists. "It's always apocalyptic with you," he says.

"Not this time. I just--I don't know how to sew."

"What?"

"I know how to do stitches, but--"

"Your stitches are awful," he says, and she grins.

"Which is exactly why I need sewing lessons."

"Since when am I the unofficial community tutor?" he grumbles.

She pats him on the shoulder. "Since you're the best at everything. Sorry, did you want someone else to teach me? They'd just do a bad job and you'd have to do it again."

"It's tough being the only competent ones," he agrees. "Yeah, I can do that. You want to come over tonight?"

"After dinner?" she asks.

"Yeah, I can do that." There's a pause, and then he asks, "You need herbs?"

"What kind?"

"Any. Akiko asked me to help her with her identification, and she needs the help, but--I wouldn't mind backup."

Clarke can't help a grin. "You're afraid of her."

"I'm not _afraid_ of her," he grumbles. "But, yeah. I've been trying to keep from doing any of these in private, so no one gets the wrong idea. But going into the woods for supplies is private by default, so--"

"So you just want me to protect you from the tiny girl with a crush on you," she teases.

"Basically, yeah. You need stuff, right?"

"I need stuff. I think Monty does too. We'll make it a party."

Raven ends up coming too, and Akiko takes the change of plans from private lesson to group expedition with admirable good cheer, as Clarke expected. They've got a good group, finally. They all want to be here. They picked each other.

It's not until after dinner, which she eats sitting next to Bellamy, like always, that Clarke realizes what he wasn't saying, or maybe what he didn't mean to say, about the two of them. He says, "You ready?" and it occurs to her that he's taking her to his room. Where they'll be _alone_. And he avoids that, with other people. 

He doesn't want other people to get the wrong idea. 

"Ready," she says, and reminds herself that they're _friends_ , and he probably doesn't think she's doing this for shallow, superficial reasons. He probably thinks she's being genuine.

Which, okay, she is. She sucks at sewing. But she'd be lying if she said she wasn't hoping she had the right idea about the two of them.

Bellamy's room is across from hers, so it's not like it's even particularly notable, that they're going back together. They're together most of the time.

"So, what do you need to sew?" he asks her.

"What?"

"Sewing. Do you have repairs or do you want to make new stuff or what? You know I can just do it for you, right?"

"I'm not bringing every ripped shirt to you."

"Why not?"

He sounds like he really thinks it's an option. "You've got better things to do than fix my clothes, Bellamy."

"It really doesn't take long."

"That's not the point."

"So, you want to learn to do repairs," he says, unlocking his door. Clarke always likes being in his room; they painted it blue and she did some stars, and he's got a bunch of books they salvaged from Mount Weather, and his bed always seems warmer than hers.

The last part is definitely her imagination.

"Making my own clothes sounds good too. Someday. But I assume that's going to take a lot of lessons."

"And more supplies than I've got on me. But some of my stuff is ripped, we can start with that."

"See? You're not even fixing your own clothes, why would you fix mine?"

"If yours need it more," he says, with a shrug. "Did you want to grab something to work on?"

"Yours is fine."

"Okay, come over."

He sits down on his bed, so she joins him, shoulder brushing against his. He's warm like a furnace, firm, and for the first time it occurs to her that this might never get better. This might just be how it is now, this unavoidable awareness of _Bellamy_ , of every part of him and every part of her whenever they're together.

"You know the basics, you just need to care more," he tells her, as he strings the needle. "Which is the last thing I expected to have to tell you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Always took you for a perfectionist."

"They don't need to be _perfect_ ," she grumbles. "They just need to work."

"Yeah, but why not make them good while you're at it?" He starts to mend the shirt he's holding, and it occurs to her belatedly what a bad idea _sewing_ was. She's just staring at his hands as he works, and that's the last thing she needs. "Yours are always so far apart. And messy."

"I know. Why do you think I asked for your help?"

He works in silence for a minute, and then finally says, "I was kind of wondering, yeah."

"You told me I was bad at stitches."

"Yeah." He's quiet again. "But you know why other people are asking me for help, right?"

"Because you're the best at helping," she says, voice light.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure that's not it. Did you actually think that was it?"

"No."

He nods, doesn't look at her when he asks, "So, why did you ask for my help?"

He already knows why. He guessed. And he brought her here, alone. He wouldn't have done that, if he was going to--well, if it was going to go _so_ badly. "The same reason everyone else did."

"Thank goodness," he says, and slides one big hand up to cup her face. The first press of his mouth makes her gasp, and he pulls back, eyes roving over her face, unsure.

"No," she says, fingers tangling in his shirt, pulling him back to her. "That was a good noise."

"Oh," he says, and she feels his smile before they kiss again. This time, he doesn't pull back, and Clarke's eyes slide shut as she loses herself in it, the warmth of his mouth, the slide of his tongue, the feel and scent of him, familiar and new all at once. She knew what he was like, but she didn't know he'd be like _this_.

Just as she's really getting used to it, thinking about tugging his shirt off maybe, he yelps and jumps back.

He holds up his hand before she can ask, his smile sheepish. "Needle," he says, taking the shirt off his lap and setting it aside. "Sorry."

She laughs. "I guess maybe sewing wasn't the best thing to get help with."

He leans back in. "Anything would have been fine. All you had to do was ask, Clarke."

She shifts into his lap as they kiss, and he slides his hands up her sides, roaming over her skin, mapping her body. She pulls back just long enough to get her own shirt off, and he stares for a second, until she tugs his hands back up.

"I was enjoying that," he says, mouth warm against her neck, and she presses closer at the feel of his rough fingers. 

"I have dreams about your hands."

"Just my hands?"

"No, not just your hands," she says, and he catches her mouth again, longer and deeper. 

"How many sewing lessons do you want?" he asks, voice strange, and it takes a second for her to figure out the question, and even when she does, she's not quite sure how to answer.

She tugs his shirt off and pushes him onto his back, considering. His hair is a mess and his smile is a unsteady, a little unsure.

"None," she says. "I just want you."

"Should have said," he murmurs, and undoes the hook on her bra to slide it off.

It's been a long time since she did this, and she hasn't exactly missed it. She likes sex, but sometimes it felt like an easy way to make a connection, like a shortcut.

She's not sure she and Bellamy know what a shortcut is, when it comes to each other. They've fought for every inch of ground.

"You knew," she tells him, pressing her mouth against his neck, his chest, all this skin she wants to memorize. "You know how I feel about you, Bellamy."

"Yeah," he agrees. "I still want to hear it."

"I love you," she says. And, before he can respond, "And I think about you naked all the time."

He laughs, tugs her back on the bed and then turns them over so she's under him. He doesn't always feel so much larger than she is, but now she's aware of how broad he is, how he could hold her down and keep her there, if he wanted to. How she wouldn't mind if he did want that."

"Romantic," he says, and his smile softens. "Yeah. Me too." 

She's saved from having to answer by his hand on her breast, somehow just as good as she hoped it would be. Her hips rub up against his thigh, and he laughs, delighted like she's never heard. He's so _happy_.

It's not like she isn't, but it's so nice to see on him.

"What do you want?"

"Your hands, everywhere."

"That's it?"

"That's a start."

He kisses her again, and gets her nipple between his fingertips, a perfect pressure that makes heat spike between her legs. It's so good she can't even keep up kissing him, can't keep quiet as he touches her, and his mouth drops to her neck while she moans.

"Good thing you're my neighbor," he teases. "Or else we'd been keeping people up."

Before she can come up with a response, he closes his mouth over her nipple, and her brain shorts out. Her hand tangles in his hair, keeping him close, and she's definitely going to get off just from this, rubbing up against his thigh while he plays with her breasts.

"Is this what you want?" he murmurs. "Or do you want me inside you?"

She actually whimpers. "Fuck. I want everything."

"You can have everything. Just tell me what you want _now_."

That makes it easier to think. "Yeah. Inside me."

He grins, pecks her on the mouth again. "Good. That's what I wanted too."

They both fumble out of their clothes and then he's back on top of her, kissing her again, his fingers sliding inside her, good but not nearly enough.

"Bellamy," she manages, and she sees his throat bob as he swallows.

"I don't want to hurt you. I don't have--" He pulls away to look for something, and she can't come up with what until he finds some lotion. "This will probably work? If you want?"

She has to smile. "Yeah, that's good. Just--come on."

"Trust me, I'm coming," he teases, and she shoves his shoulder gently.

"Shut up and fuck me."

To her mild annoyance, he pulls back, looking serious, instead of just _fucking her_ , but then he says, "I love you." Which is--sweet, and she appreciates it.

But he's huge and hard and she wants him so much. 

"I love you too," she says. "Seriously, shut up and fuck me."

"I don't take orders from you," he teases, but he pushes into her before she can say anything else.

It hurts a little, the unfamiliar stretch, something she hasn't had in too long, and he is--big. It's almost too much, everything at once, and it's a relief when he kisses her again, pulls her focus back to _them_. This is Bellamy, her best friend, her favorite person. And he's hers.

He pulls back once he's all the way in, breath ragged, forehead resting against her shoulder as they both adjust. "Fuck," he breathes. "Tell me when I--"

She makes herself take a few more seconds, to be sure. "Yeah," she says. "Please."

"Okay." He lets out another breath and then he's moving, awkward at first, until they find the rhythm, and then suddenly it's easy, natural. The two of them, on the same page. Together.

She comes quickly, the first time, because she's been on edge for weeks, ever since she started noticing him, thinking about him. And she's wanted him for longer, she's sure. She doesn't even know how long it's been.

"You can," she manages, when he stills a little. "Keep going. It's--"

"I'm impressing you with my sexual prowess," he says. The kiss is sweet, and when he does start moving again, it's slow and steady, deliberate, Clarke doesn't even realize how good it feels until she's on the edge again, pushing back at every thrust. "See?" he asks, biting her neck. "Sexual prowess."

"You don't need to impress me," she says. "You've already got me."

"Too bad. I'm doing it anyway."

They come almost together this time, Bellamy's mouth open against her neck as he loses control and just goes hard and fast, so ready for his own release. After, he slumps onto her, not on quite top of her, but warm and close, unwilling to let go of her.

She twists around in his arms so she can bury her face against his neck. "That's exactly what I was hoping would happen."

"Yeah, next time you want to have sex with me, just tell me. _Sewing lesson_ is a weird euphemism." He presses his lips against her hair. "Are you staying?"

"Yeah," she says. "I'm not going anywhere."

She's curled into his side the next morning at breakfast, their hands linked under the table, contact at as many points as they can manage, when Aron comes over to ask Bellamy something and then abruptly stops short at the sight of them.

"You need something?" Bellamy asks, gruff.

"Just--help with tracking," he stutters. "But I can--"

"No, that's a good idea," he says. "I've got a couple other people who are having trouble with that anyway. Meet at the back gate in an hour?"

"Of course. Thank you," says Aron, and skitters off.

Clarke buries her laugh against his shoulder. "You're going to break so many hearts," she teases. "Our most eligible bachelor, off the market."

He tilts her head up for a quick kiss. "I wasn't ever on the market," he points out. "See you tonight?"

_Hers_ , she thinks. That's what she's been missing, all these months. That's what she didn't realize. This whole time, he's been hers. And she's been his, too.

"Yeah," she says. "Tonight."

She still watches the start of his lesson, of course, watches his hands move as he explains things, the easy, confident way he speaks, the way the sun catches in his hair when he moves. All her favorite things about him.

And when he catches her eye, he smiles, and she smiles back, and she thinks that, finally, she's got it all figured out.


End file.
